


FFXV: Dandelions

by Skylerius



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, BAMF Reader, BAMFs, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, One Shot Collection, Original Character Death(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Cor Leonis, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Saving the World, Some Plot, requests open
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 12:57:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21036608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylerius/pseuds/Skylerius
Summary: Your name is Felicity Leonis, and you are the lone survivor of a desperate battle that took place in the Citadel, preventing the Crystal from being taken, the Wall from falling, and the Empire from laying siege to the Crown City. You are a hero.At least, that's what they tell you. The truth is, after waking up in a hospital bed weeks after your harrowing near-death experience, you can hardly remember a thing.---This is my first reader-insert! I did give the reader a proper identity, because I personally find that typing Y/N, "Name," etc. kind of spoils the immersion of the story a bit, and I like being able to describe the protag in more detail. I will be accepting one-shot requests within this AU I made, both platonic and romantic, but I do not write explicit sexual content or overly weird pairings. I can do multiple versions of the same request with different characters, like, "reader having their back injury act up in a battle" or "reader going to their s/o after a bad flashback," etc. Also I love song-fics. Lyrics will appear often. XD This is purely for fun and self-indulgence, and sharing the love for FFXV because my love for it has not faltered at all.





	FFXV: Dandelions

**Author's Note:**

> Song Lyrics: "Hurts like Hell" by Fleurie

~:-:-:-:-:-:-:~

_How can I say this without breaking_  
_ How can I say this without taking over_  
_ How can I put it down into words_  
_ When it's almost too much for my soul alone _

_I loved, and I loved and I lost you_  
_ I loved, and I loved and I lost you_  
_ I loved, and I loved and I lost you _

_And it hurts like hell_

_Yeah, it hurts like hell._

~:-:-:-:-:-:-:~ 

_Pat. Pat. Pat._

You watch, breathing heavily, as drips of blood slowly fall from your face, pattering softly into the puddle of red gradually forming beneath you. It comes from your nose, the corner of your mouth, the aching wound on the side of your head, matting your hair together in wet, sticky clumps, at first warm, but rapidly chilling in the cool air of the dim room.

Every breath hurts, your lungs rattling, a gurgle in the back of your throat. You swallow, tasting iron, and when you cough, the pain sending blots of white across your vision, more red appears at your lips. The entire upper half of your body hurts, from your head hanging heavily from your neck, the shoulder connected to your limp, useless right arm that rests at the edge of the puddle of blood, your fingers too numb now to feel it soaking into your black leather glove. Your chest aches, the muscles in your stomach and back straining to hold you in your current position, resting on your right hip with your legs splayed out behind you, your left hand clutching the hilt of the sword you stabbed into the cracked tile floor to hold you in that somewhat upright position. As for your legs, you can't feel them at all anymore, all sensation, all control, simply cutting off at your lower back, making you numb to the wounds you can see when you look over your shoulder. The dagger still buried up to the hilt in your left thigh, the bent, awkward angle of your right ankle. It's like they aren't even there.

What are there are the bodies. Your glazed eyes stare blankly forward, your shadow falling across the room, which is illuminated only by a soft blue glow coming from directly behind you. Its light falls upon the twisted, darkly-clothed corpses laying scattered across the floor... sweet, beloved faces intermingled with the traitors, the liars, and the thieves.

Belva's pale blue eyes are staring blankly up at the ceiling, already fogged over with death, her mouth still half open as if she were crying out in pain. Her dark, spiked hair is coated in blood that stains her lips black, the piercings in her nose, ears, and eyebrow glinting softly in the light.

Beside her is baby-faced Quade. His eyes are mercifully closed, almost giving the impression that he is asleep, an oddly peaceful expression on his chubby, stubble-covered face. Except, his broad chest has been cleaved nearly in half, his body gaping open from sternum to navel, blood pooled around him. The flow of it had long stopped with his pulse.

Near the doors are Cadence and Griffin, practically laying on top of one another. You cannot see her face, only the back of her head, her long blonde hair sweeping out behind her, draped over Griffin's arm as he lays crumpled beside her, dagger still clenched in his fist.

Last, but not least, is Silvano, the eldest of you all. He lies nearest to you, resting peacefully in the blue light of the Crystal at your back, his silver hair washed white. One of his arms is extended towards you, shards of shattered glass crumbling in his palm, slowly disintegrating, wisps of blue magic still flickering about his fingers from when he used the last curative on you, moments before his demise. He had valued your life. Treasured your youth, having been just over a decade your elder. He had wanted you to live on for him, for all of them. You are their legacy.

Tears form in your eyes, one of them slowly rolling down your face, leaving a clear trail across your bloodied, smoke-stained skin. You feel your grip slide on the hilt of your blade, slick with blood, both yours and your enemies', and you force your fingers to tighten more firmly around it, your arm shaking with the effort. You cannot fall now. You have to stay upright, stay alert, and wait for help to come. If you let yourself go down now, all of this would have been for naught. Their deaths would have meant nothing.

An eternity seems to pass you by, each second on the clock dragging on and on. The scent of death surrounds you.

Finally, you can hear movement, footsteps rushing through the corridors beyond this room of death. Silhouettes appear in the doorway, weapons shining in their hands, life in their eyes. They falter slightly at the sight that was before them, looking around as if they were expecting a battle, not... not one that had already come to pass.

One man pushes his way past the others, leaping over the bodies on the floor so he could rush towards you. "Felicity!"

The sound of his voice finally allows a small sob to rip from your chest, and you lose your grip on your sword, slumping limply to the floor as the last of your strength leaves you. A moment later, you are being gently pulled from the cold stone and cradled in warm arms, a hand stroking your hair back from your face.

"No, no... stay with me. Stay with me, now... Fey, stay with me." Your eyes are blurry, but you can still make out his face looking down at you. Square jaw, short hair that he insists is brown, but you call it a very dark shade of blonde, because it looks just slightly golden in the sun. Pale blue eyes, just like yours.

A few more tears trail from the corners of your eyes, rolling across your cheekbones as you pillow your head against his arm, looking up at that familiar face. Cor the Immortal, they call him. You call him Dad.

Somehow, a smile graces your bloodstained lips, and you find yourself whispering apologies in between struggling breaths. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Dad..."

One of the other Kingsglaive is speaking into a radio, his voice seeming terribly loud in that small room. "The Crystal is safe. The missing Crownsguard are here... looks like they stopped whatever the Empire was planning. No, none of them made it, except for Leonis. We need a med evac at our location immediately. Yes, the Marshal is here... just hurry."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Cor asks, his hand still holding the side of your face, keeping your head from lolling over so he could look you in the eyes. "Why did you keep this to yourself?"

"We didn't know who to trust..." You speak in a pained whisper, your groggy mind trying to dredge up memories of the events leading up to your team's demise. Overhearing the wrong conversations. Following suspicious Glaives. Learning of the conspiracy. The plot to take down the Wall to let the Empire in during the peace proceedings.

You kept it to yourselves, and slipped away, despite the Crownsguard being instructed to focus on protecting the Crown City itself, not the Citadel. You had directly disobeyed orders. Your father's orders. You and your friends singlehandedly stopped the fall of the city, but at such a great cost. Not one of you had hesitated, even for a moment, no matter how outmatched you were. You were underdogs going into that fight, but love and loyalty saw you through, the fires of hell burning in your eyes and a sword at your fingertips.

"I'm sorry..." You whisper again, closing your eyes. You are glad that your father's face is the last one you see as the darkness comes bubbling up to take you, but you don't want to see the look on his face as you slip away.

His voice, and all those around you, fade into white noise.

"Fey? Fey, no, stay with me..."

"Open your eyes..."

"... stay... me..."

"... please..."

"... Leo..."

"... hurry... help..."

_"Felicity!"_

~:-:-:-:-:-:-:~

_I don't want them to know the secrets_  
_ I don't want them to know the way I loved you_  
_ I don't think they'd understand it, no_  
_ I don't think they would accept me, no_

_I loved, and I loved and I lost you_  
_ I loved, and I loved and I lost you_  
_ I loved, and I loved and I lost you_

_And it hurts like hell_  
_ Yeah, it hurts like hell_  


~:-:-:-:-:-:-:~

You are fairly sure you are dying. Why else would you be having an out of body experience, watching the scene unravel before you?

Your body lies in the Citadel's own hospital wing, nestled into a vast white bed that makes you seem so small, especially with the wires trailed over your chest and connected to the fingers of your left hand, an IV on the inside of your elbow, and an oxygen tube down your throat, a respirator helping you cling to life. There are no flowers or cards wishing you well. Nobody dares have that much hope, mere days after the attack. Not when an hour could be all that it takes for them to be tossed into the garbage, a shroud pulled over your face.

But while your body lies helplessly in a hospital room, your mind wanders, and bears witness to the Prince's homecoming. He is angry, storming up the stairs of the Citadel with his friends behind him, pushing past the Guards trying to speak to him. He strides in through the front doors and bursts into the throne room, shouting for his father.

You don't hear their words, exactly, hovering up by the ceiling, watching it all go down from above. Regis goes to meet his son, seeming flustered. He didn't expect to ever see him again. Did he sense that the Empire was planning something all along? Or had he simply braced himself for the worst, while hoping for the best? Regardless, he stumbles over his words to young Noctis, before finally finding his voice again, silencing his son with a hand on his shoulder and a few stern words that break through the quiet hum you had failed to make sense of beforehand. You watch as the Prince calms, grabbing onto the King's jacket and hanging his head.

"I'm just... glad you're alright..." Noctis speaks softly, but you hear it this time, and you smile.

At the same time, Clarus takes a moment to greet his own son, the two broad men grasping one another's forearms and making eye contact for several long, silent seconds, allowing their respective charges a private moment while Prompto and Ignis step back and pretend that the floor is the most interesting thing to stare at.

That is when your own father appears, entering through a door off to the side. He is normally a stern, serious man, but something about his demeanor is so clearly... broken. His face set into a harder expression than usual, head bowed slightly as if he wants to slouch, or curl up in a ball, but shoulders and back so rigid you would think his spine had fused into a straight line.

"Marshal," Ignis greets him. "I'm glad to see you are safe as well."

Cor falters slightly at that, and the others catch on quickly enough. Gladio is the only one bold enough to say anything, however, releasing his father's arm as he asks, "What's wrong?" He glances between the Marshal and his father, suspicion and fear making its way into his brown eyes, an expression mimicked by the other boys. "What happened? Is everyone alright? Iris?"

"Your sister is safe," Clarus reassured him with a nod. "I saw to it that Dustin took her, Jared, and Talcott out of the city the moment things went awry. They are due to return soon, once we have had a chance to fully investigate the Glaives."

"Then..." Noctis' blue eyes flicker back and forth, his frantic mind trying to pluck up the names of loved ones to worry about.

It is Prompto who seems to get it first, but he pinches his lips together and looks to Ignis, who is the one who voices the question in that steady, calm voice of his, "And Felicity?"

Your father closes his eyes, ducking his head for a moment before turning his face ever so slightly skyward. You wonder if he knows you're there. "She and her comrades were the ones who caught on to the plot. They protected the Crystal, and thus the entirety of Insomnia, if not all of Lucis. They carried out the duty they had been given."

The way he says it has them all looking down at their feet. Ignis quietly utters, "I am... sorry, Marshal, for your loss."

Cor is too pragmatic a man to speak of you like you are alive and well, too prepared for his happiness, his only family, to be stripped away. Clarus, however, is the one his son got his attitude from, and he moves to clap a hand onto his friend's shoulder before addressing the boys again. "Only young Leonis survived the battle, and is in critical condition in the hospital ward. We have hope she'll pull through. She's the daughter of the Immortal, after all. Surely, she won't let this take her out."

You smile again, laughing faintly, at the look your father gives Clarus at the mention of his Immortal title. He never has liked it.

The boys lighten up slightly when given that ray of hope, and Ignis nudges Prompto while moving to stand by Noctis. "He's right. With a name like Felicity, she has surely been bestowed with great fortune. We will meet again, I am sure."

"Y-yeah! Right! Uh... keep us updated, sir, if... if you don't mind," Prompto stammers out, shrinking down ever so slightly when addressing Cor. He always has been intimidated by him.

At least... you think he has.

Your mind suddenly feels hazy, and as you look down at the familiar faces beneath you, their voices become garbled and distant once more. You try to remember things, the little details about them that make them who they are to you, but you feel it slipping through the cracks... the conversations, the adventures, the memories of happiness, hurt, and heartbreak. You can't remember which school you went to, the birthday parties you are sure you had, the name of your first pet.

You can't remember _their_ names.

"No..." You whisper, but your voice is silent, unheard. "No, anything but that... don't take them from me..."

Eyes, staring lifelessly at the ceiling. Blood. Shards of glass. A wisp of blonde hair.

"Don't take them from me..."

Your memories drift away like dandelion fluff, lost to the wind, lest they manage to take root somewhere and be found again.

Your consciousness slips away with them, desperately clinging to what feeble memories you have of the ones who fought and died by your side, refusing to let them go.

~:-:-:-:-:-:-:~  
_Dreams fight with machines_  
_ Inside my head like adversaries_  
_ Come wrestle me free_  
_ Clean from the war_  
_ Your heart fits like a key_  
_ Into the lock on the wall_

_I turn it over_  
_ I turn it over_  
_ But I can't escape_  
_ I turn it over_  
_ I turn it over_

_I loved, and I loved and I lost you_  
_ I loved, and I loved and I lost you_  
_ I loved, and I loved and I lost you_

_And it hurts like hell._  
~:-:-:-:-:-:-:~

Waking up is painful. As you come out of the black abyss that had claimed you, the doctors try to explain that you've been asleep for a long time. A medically-induced coma, they say. Weeks, they say. All you know is that your body hurts, and you don't remember how you've gotten there.

"Can you tell me your name?" A nice lady -- you aren't sure if she's a doctor or a nurse, but she's in scrubs -- asks, smiling down at you while offering you a sip of water. Thank the gods, because your throat hurts so badly after having a breathing tube in for so long.

You take a small sip of water through a bendy straw when the lady offers you a cup, and it feels like heaven. Running your tongue over your lips to wet them, you lean your head back against your pillows and try to dig up what knowledge you might have rattling around in your foggy, turned-to-mush-by-painkillers mind. It... takes a long moment for it to come to you. Too long.

"My name..." You cough, and are offered another sip of water. "Fey. Fey Leonis."

"Your whole name?"

"..." Right, Fey is just a nickname. It takes another painful moment for you to recall your whole name. "Felicity."

"Good," the lady smiles again, warm like the rays of the sun. You can remember what that feels like, which makes it all the stranger that it took so long to recall your own name. "Do you know where you are?"

"A... hospital?"

"Yes, but where? Where do you live?"

"I... I live..."

_Shit._

Tears prick your eyes, fear and frustration warring with one another as you feel like the name of your home is on the tip of your tongue, but it just doesn't come.

"It's alright. You're still very hazy right now. What about your birthday?"

"It's... in the winter. It's cold."

"Good, very good."

You aren't pressed for a specific date, which is a bit of a relief, because you honestly cannot remember which of the really cold, snowy months is the one you were born in. You can't remember celebrating any of those birthdays, either. Which makes you frustrated again when you are asked another question.

"How old are you?"

_I don't know._

"Felicity, it's okay. Take your time."

_But I don't know._

"You were asleep for a long time, it's okay if you don't remember everything right away. You were badly hurt. Do you remember anything about what happened to you?"

Hazy impressions come to you, but none of it makes any sense. A blur of shadow and light, the glint of steel, the earth shaking violently as a rumbling sound fills your ears... voices you can't put names or faces to, shouting wordlessly. Blood. A lot of blood.

You weakly clench your fists, eyes still burning as you feel your breath hitch. "I... can't..."

The lady gently rests her hand on your arm, the one that doesn't have all sorts of bandaging and casts on it. Her expression is still warm and gentle as she smiles at you, saying softly, "It's alright. It'll come to you. We're just going to take it slow, okay? In the meantime, there are a lot of people who are worried about you, and will be happy to see you're awake. Your father is here. Is it okay if we let him in?"

Your father. You struggle to put a face to him, but your heart still leaps at the idea of seeing him. You get the vague impression of calloused hands on yours, late night dinners, and the smell of leather and aftershave as you lean your head against a sturdy shoulder, feet swinging in the air as someone carries you to bed when you were smaller.

You nod, and the lady steps away, motioning for the others to follow suit. They have overwhelmed you enough for one day.

As they file out the door, they update someone standing in the hallway beyond, voices hushed, but you stiffen as you hear the newcomer's voice respond, "Thank you."

Eyes flicking to the doorway, you see a man enter, the door gently closing behind him. You still can't recall his name, but you don't need to, because you know he's Dad. That's the only name that matters.

You try not to, some deeply ingrained sense of pride telling you to hold on to your composure, but you burst into tears once the two of you are alone in that sterile white room. Crying hurts, _gods _does crying hurt in your chest, throat, and right shoulder, but every hiccup and hitching breath sending small waves of pain through you despite the painkillers fed into you through your IV drip, but you can't help it. You can't stop.

Dad crosses the room quickly to reach your side, one hand coming to hold the side of your face, the other bracing against the mattress as he leans down over you. His forehead lightly touches yours, and you get that familiar smell you had remembered; leather and aftershave. You never wanted to forget that again. It smelled like home.

"It's alright," he murmurs softly, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "Everything is going to be alright now. I'm here."


End file.
